Lilies and Arrows
by Craseelix1190
Summary: She is the girl that they are afraid of. She is the girl that has rumors surrounding her like a dark mist, shrouding her past; her personality. She is the girl who began the revolution long before the Girl on Fire. White hair, red lips, muddy green eyes–Lily Davenport isn't your typical District 4 girl. She's the spark that lit the fire. Finnick/OC, 65th Hunger Games. More inside!


_Lilies and Arrows_

 _1._

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Hello new readers! So this is a new story plot that randomly popped into my head and I wanted to write it out and see the feedback that it got. Now since I have three other stories (which two of are on hiatus and one is being updated asap) this will probably not be one of my priorities unless I see where it goes. If you guys, my readers, really like the idea and want more, please please please **REVIEW!** It really helps me to see what you guys are feeling and if you want more. If you like this piece of writing or my writing style in general, check out my other stories as well on my profile (eek!). Follow and favorite for much support and I will love you guys very much if you do! BIG QUESTION: Should I keep on writing more?

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, nor do I own the beauty that is Finnick Odair *cough cough* (Sam Claflin), or any other characters like the beautiful Effie Trinket or the world at all. I really wish I did, but I really don't. I do own my pretty girl Lily Davenport, but hey, that's another story :).

Just as an extra note, I know in the book Finnick is 14 when he wins the 65th Hunger Games, but in this one he's 18. Okay, without further ado...–

I hope you guys enjoy it, and here ya go!

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My name. Effie Trinket had called my name. Out of every person in District 4, every girl, my name which had only been used twice in the reaping bowl for tesserae was picked. Which had only been used seven other times as normal.

"Lily Davenport." The outrageous public announcer, this year dressed in dark hues of blue and turquoise, read the name twice, as if I didn't know who it was. I stood within the crowd, my feet planted to the ground, my eyes trained on the stage in front of me where Effie smiled almost comically, her stained white teeth bright against the sun as she began scrutinizing the crowd for the tribute that had been picked out of the reaping. The girl with white hair. The girl with green eyes the color of murky water that surrounded my small cottage on three sides, back in the District. My grandmother and I lived far from the fishing village, coming to the market only when food was scarce and fishing wasn't an option.

Crowds around me parted, my white hair making me stand out against the people. I wasn't like them, I wasn't the normal fish folk that worked for the capitol. I wasn't their normal girl who ended up making so many fishnets all her life that her hands became tough and coarse. My grandmother had hands like that, and whenever I asked her how her fingers had become so twisted and her hands so rough, she simply waved me off and told me to forage around the lake. To them I was the girl that practiced witchcraft–something that I didn't do–and was hexed. I was the girl born with hair the color of clouds and eyes that were deep and mysterious. I was not only a danger to them, but they found my grandmother and I to be awful people.

They didn't even know me.

Slowly I made my way up to the podium, glancing behind me at least once to see all of the faces that I knew judged me. Every single glaring eye swore off my life to The Hunger Games.

"Come here darling!" Effie's sickeningly sweet voice called to me, her long nails beckoning me forward. I hesitated, looking at the men in suits next to me on each side, stopping me from running.

Five steps and I would be the next tribute.

Four steps and I would be the cannon that rang off in the distance.

Three more steps and I would be the hexed girl who killed off her opponents.

Two more steps and I would become the little fisher girl in the dress to die for.

One more step and I would begin the end of my life.

"What's your age sweetheart?" Effie said into the microphone, her blue lipgloss so colorful it was almost disastrous. She smelled like blossoms and fresh flowers, and it was so overwhelming that all that was running through my brain was making my way towards the other end of the stage. I felt like I was preparing to puke. I looked out to the people who watched me with suspicious eyes, eyes that condemned me for a life and a story that had begun long before I had been born. I shuffled closer towards the microphone, Effie's hand and her long nails situated on my lower back.

"I'm eighteen." I couldn't even recognize my own voice. It was–dare I say–squeaky and cracked, more of that of an eleven year old girl than the young woman I had become to know. The girl that I looked at in the mirror on occasion, my hair around my face in wild yet somehow contained strands, cut short to my shoulders. I held in tears, knowing that the girl I had seen this morning, the girl that had suppressed her hair with pins and bow-ties would die within a ring of ruthless people. Effie clapped, her eyes meeting mine with sympathy.

"And now for the boys." I didn't want to listen, I couldn't listen. I drowned out the drums with the blood running through my ears; hard pounding. My blood had nothing on the Capitol's drums. A pale hand twirled in the bowl next to the one that had so unceremoniously decided my fate for me, Effie Trinket's hand striking quickly to pick up a singular name on a piece of paper. Her hand reminded me of a snake, coiling insidiously, the mark of death on each and every one of her movements. I knew nothing about snakes, other than water snakes around the lake.

"The male tribute is," there was a dramatic pause, the drum in the background picking up pace. "Finnick Odair." A long pause descended over the people as Finnick emerged from the crowd, barely losing a step. He strode confidently forward, and for a moment, he reminded me of a career. For a moment he reminded me of a killer. He jumped up the steps two at a time and smiled at Effie, taking her hand within his own, kissing her knuckles. I was completely taken aback. How could he be like this? This could be his death sentence and yet he embraced Effie with a smile that almost sickened me to my stomach. I looked away, disgusted, wishing to ignore the spectacle that the boy was making.

I had seen him around the market from time to time, his blonde hair spiked in a certain style that made it look particularly soft. His body was built, his arms which stood out from the blue shirt he wore laced with taut, powerful muscles. He was a fisher and everything in his body exuded that power. Yet he seemed gentle as he wrapped his arm around the small figure of Effie's body.

"There you have it, the tributes from District 4 that will be participating in the 65th Annual Hunger Games!" Effie turned to the both of us and motioned for Finnick and I to shake hands. I glanced at her before Finnick smiled kindly at me and outstretched his hand. Shyly almost, I reached out and took his hand, shaking it firmly. Effie let out a small trickle of laughter before looking into the crowd and waving. "Congratulations tributes," she patted me on the back and I stiffened automatically.

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May the odds be ever in your favor. May the odds be ever in your favor. May the odds be _ever_ in your favor. That simple sentence repeated itself over and over to me, Effie's delighted voice and outgoing hand motions reminded me of a puppet on a string as I sat at the back of the train car, watching the District I had been raised in fade behind the distance and the clouds.


End file.
